


Thank You, Ma'am

by Jenye



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Modern Era, Post-Canon, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 13:59:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6472756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenye/pseuds/Jenye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Look, I might be generally considered out of my skull, so this may not mean much, but that could be the craziest, most batshit thing I’ve ever heard in my life. People that can hurt you — the ones that can really hurt you — are the ones that are close enough to do it. People that get inside you and - and tear you apart. And make you feel like you’re never going to recover."</p>
<p>--Frank & Karen in various settings, based on prompts requested via Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Table Of Contents

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr prompts (and this ship) have kind of become my newest source for inspiration and since I was getting so many of them I decided I'd go ahead and create a place for them here. Settings, ratings, length, and plot will vary with each chapter. Thanks to all who have sent & continue to send me fantastic prompts for this couple!

  1. Table of Contents
  2. You Left Me
  3. You're Safe
  4. Working On Two




	2. You Left Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked for Kastle + angry, "I'm sorry", & "I missed you" kiss. Rated T, Canon-verse.

“Honey, you want a refill?”

The fog in her mind cleared momentarily as she looked up at the familiar waitress. She gave a small nod, holding up her mug. Her mumbled thank you is the first words she’s spoken to anyone in nearly a week. She’s been under the radar — hunting him. And every night she lands here, in this same booth with the same cup of coffee. She doesn’t even flinch when a car alarm down the street goes off or distant gunfire rings out. Instead she prays it’d lead her to him.

It hasn’t. 

She glances out the window, catching her reflection in the glass. She looks like a woman obsessed — the dark circles beneath her eyes, her hair pulled back in a haphazard ponytail, and the sweater she’s been wearing for the last two days. His sweater. He’d left it at her apartment one night in the not so distant past. During a more peaceful time — a pause in the torturous lifestyle he insisted upon. A lifestyle she has learned to turn a blind moral eye to. Because this world isn’t just good and evil, it’s shades of goddamn gray. 

She turned a blind eye and he always came back to her. But this time was different. This time he’d made a mistake — and his line of “work” mistakes lead to the wrong people shedding blood. It had wrecked him to the core; she saw it in his face that night. She didn’t know the story — she never asked — but the misery was all over his face. 

And then he was gone. 

The bell over the door rings through the silent diner and she jumps with renewed excitement, turning in her booth. It’s not him and it feels like someone literally ripped a new hole in her chest. Her breath catches in her throat and she has to close her eyes and lean back in her seat just to find some kind of calm. Every time it’s not him a sense of what she can only describe as panic washes over her. And she’s not sure what’s worse — the fact that he’s gone or the fact that this has caused her to realize she loves him.

She loves Frank Castle. She’s a fucking fool.

She quickly drops some cash on the table, tears streaming down her cheeks as she makes a beeline for the exit. It doesn’t go unnoticed by her how the waitress’ eyes follow her out, pity in her expression. 

\--

Her feet weigh her down as she drags them down the hallway to her apartment. Her fingers fiddle with the keys in her hand as she slowly unlocks the door. Every movement takes an extra effort and her life feels like it’s going in slow motion. 

She’s exhausted, but she knows sleep will avoid her once again tonight. That’s why she’s started spending most of the night at the diner — sometimes staying until sunrise and the breakfast crowd starts to show up. Being awake is cruel enough when all her leads have dried up, but being awake and completely alone is a whole new sort of hell.

Flipping on the light to her small home, she gasps in surprise. Her keys hit the ground as her hand comes over her mouth. Her heart pounds against her chest with renewed bravado. And he’s standing there in her kitchenette, his hands out much like they were that first time he came to her place. He looks tattered and beaten, but nothing is fresh. 

“Hey I —“

His voice seems to pull her from her shock and she’s storming toward him. Her hands instantly pound against his chest and he lets her push against him. And her sobs slip from her lips and she’s not sure if the burning in her chest is from anger or relief. 

“You left.” She cries, unlike she ever has around him. “You fucking left.”

He doesn’t say anything and soon her fists pounding against him, turns into her grasping at his shirt. Folding herself into him as she shakes. At first he doesn’t move, almost like he’s waiting for her rage to take over again. But it doesn’t, because rational emotions lost a long time ago when it came to Frank Castle. 

And then his arms are wrapping around her, his fingers grasping at the back of her neck. She can’t see his expression, but she can practically feel as his muscles begin to relax against her. 

“I — I’m sorry.”

So is she. Because this is a losing battle and she fucking knows it. But instead of saying anything, instead of walking away, instead of getting the fuck away from destruction she pulls away only far enough to reach her hands up to cup his face and pull him into a kiss full of every emotion she’s felt toward him this last week.

He responds in kind, his hands resting on the small of her back as he feeds in hunger for her. Soon, he’s lifting her into his arms. Her legs wrap around his waist and he’s walking the familiar path to her bed — laying her in the center. It’s then their lips part long enough for and his eyes search her face. She reaches up to trace a line over a newly acquired bruise on his jaw.

“But you came back.” She sighs, pulling him back to her.

What Karen Page doesn’t know is Frank Castle will always come back to her.


	3. You're Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked for Kastle + a kiss on the neck, Rated T. Canon verse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for those who read, comment, kudo, send in prompts — you're the ones who make this so much fun. Hope you enjoy!

She stands in front of the mirror until the steam fogs over her reflection. Her insides ache and her thoughts fade in and out as she stares straight ahead. She glimpses down at her hands against the tiles of the sink, dried blood caked under her nails and a fresh sob escapes her lips. But before she can shatter she swallows and moves toward the running water.

Stepping in, she welcomes the water that’s too hot for her sensitive skin. It burns and sends her nerves spiraling beneath her flesh. She watches as the remaining blood and dirt falls from her and runs a muddy stream toward the drain. Her fingers run across the bruises covering her ribs, the purples and blues practically glowing atop her fair complexion. She moves her hands to run along her arms, trying with little success to erase whatever is left from earlier.

That’s when she catches sight of the abrasions wrapping around her wrists from where she fought against the restraints. Her stomach twists and she feels bile boiling up in her throat as it all rushes back to her. The cold of the knife against her throat, the blow of his knuckles against her jaw, the boot that crushed into her side when she was this close to getting out of there. 

They had her and there was nothing she could do. She was completely helpless. And it made her feel weak. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up as she reaches up to scrub at her ears, still feeling his breath tickling against her skin. Whispering ill-prepared threats and predictions. They didn’t want her. No, she was fucking bait. And maybe that was the worst part of it all. 

And then he’d been there — and the blood had truly rained down around them. She’d seen his rage before, but she’d never felt relief in seeing it. What kind of monster does that make her?

She closes her eyes and steps further into the spray, her fingers running through her hair as the water soaks through it.

He’d warned her to stay away. He told her she had no business around him. He repeated it to her like a fucking mantra and she always came back. She always pushed through because she felt it was worth it. He was worth it. Because he was more than the bloodshed he caused. And she was willing to live in a world full of gray to prove it.

This is where it got her. Picking up her pieces, rebuilding after another near-death experience. Aching from head to toe and jumping out of her skin whenever someone so much as dropped a fucking pen to the floor. 

And still she remains. Because she still wants to. 

She hears the glass door open, the cool air wafting over her skin, but she doesn’t move. She doesn’t glance over her shoulder or turn toward the movement. Instead she feels his fingers gingerly run along her bare curves before coming to rest atop her stomach, just below her breasts. She winces at the movement of being tucked against him, his arms securing her in place. She welcomes the safety that she’s come to only know when she’s with him. Her back rests against his solid chest and she leans against him. 

His lips move to graze a kiss at the junction where her neck meets her shoulder. He lingers there for only a moment before his lips move closer to her ear, nuzzling against her as the water falls around them both. This is as much as he’ll ever admit to her that their latest had shaken him just as it had shaken her. 

I can’t lose you. He’d said one night as they were wrapped in each other only a mere week ago. It had been an admission that had rocked her to her very core. She’d been a woman starved after that, pulling him close. And then this happened.

This time she doesn’t hold back when a sob rushes over her. Instead she lets her tears mix in with their shower as he holds her close. She folds herself into him and he simply lets her.

“You’re safe. Always.” His voice rumbles against her and she nods in knowing. Because she’s never doubted it, not from the moment they truly met in that hospital room. 

With Frank she’s never been in any danger. And she never will be.


	4. Working On Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked for Kastle + Exhausted Parent Kiss, Rated T. Post Canon, Future fic.

“Well, that eight pounds of chocolate frosting finally caused a sugar crash.” He says, walking through the backdoor and onto the patio. “He’s out like a light.”

And then he stops; the sight of her right now nearly has him losing his breath. Her gracious hostess appearance has been retired for the evening. Her blonde hair sits atop her head in a messy knot. Her cardigan has been discarded somewhere, leaving her in a green tank top. Her shoes have been tossed to the edge of the pool and she now walks barefoot collecting the empty plastic plates and cups that liter every surface in their backyard. 

“Did we invite toddlers or terrorists?” She asks as she turns toward him. His thoughts must be coming through his expression because she tilts her head and raises an eyebrow at him. “You okay?”

He’s perfect. Fuck, that’s new. Sure, he’s found more joy in his life these last several years than he ever imagine possible after…everything. But the sense of pure bliss that washes over him now makes his heart skip. Instead of answering, he moves toward her and reaches for her hand as he slides into the nearest deck chair. 

She doesn’t even argue as she drops the trash bag she’d been carrying around and slides into his lap. A long sigh escapes her lips as she glances around at the aftermath that is their backyard. Streamers she once had meticulously hung now lay defeated along the ground. The pool is full of inflatable toys, different water guns and several stray pieces of wrapping paper Frank will have to fish out later. And multiply colors of silly string covering it all like a fine mist.

“You think he had a good birthday?” She muses, biting down on her bottom lip and he can practically see the mental list she’s making of all that needs to be done. 

“Are you kidding? If we keep this pace by the time he’s turning eighteen we’re going to have to rent a room on the goddamn moon.” His finger ticks against her hip before he’s reaching up to pull a small piece of blue silly string from her hair. 

She laughs, leaning into him. Her arms move to wrap around his neck as she looks down at him, her fingers run over the buzzed hairs just over his ear — noting how its peppered with more gray than before Sebastian had been born. She moves into him, running her lips over his forehead before resting her cheek atop his head.

“Fuck, I’m exhausted.” He sighs, pulling her closer as he relaxes further into the chair.

“Tomorrow’s headline: The Punisher Has Met His Match: And He’s Four Years Old.”

He shakes his head, his lip curling into a smile. Everything about that kid makes him proud. “The toughest mobs in Hell’s Kitchen have nothing on that kid and his ragtag team.”  
They fall silent for awhile and Frank absorbs the stillness and lets its tranquility wash over him. Sometimes — on his harder days — he wakes up and has to remind himself exactly where he is and how he got there. The remembering is always the hardest. There are pieces he wishes were still a blur. But his reality now has become a balm to his past. It doesn’t make it better, but it makes it bearable. 

“Come on, we’ve gotta get this mess cleaned up.” She starts to pull away from him, but he holds her tighter. She giggles, but doesn’t argue as she feels his lips against the sensitive skin just behind her ear. 

“Or we could start working on kid number two.” His voice sounds like gravel against her ear and he feels her shiver against him. Her fingers tighten around the fabric of his t-shirt and she’s staring at him. Searching, wondering if he’s being sincere. He’s never lied to her.

Finally a smile starts to pull at her lips and she’s leaning into his and just before they connect she repeats, “Or we could start working on kid number two.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you got a prompt of your own for this ship (or any, really) I'd love to hear it! Come find me over on Tumblr @ likcoln. Thanks again for reading!


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